Here I am once again. I am lying in my bed, writing heaps of nonsense. I feel alone. I just turned eighteen a few days ago, so I have a little bit more freedom in that I can buy alcohol and gamble. I lost my liquor store virginity to a bottle of cheap whiskey aperitif. Apparently an aperitif is supposed to get digestive juices flowing before a meal, but all it does to me is make me eat less. It’s strange. I eat nothing for most of the day and fill up on half a shot of syrupy twaddle. Maybe the mayonnaise has something to do with it.
I mentioned in my previous creative writing preparation post that I missed the mayonnaise sold at a Dutch cheese farm. I decided to take a trip there for my birthday. I walked away with some Dutch liquorice (which I am also crazy over) the aforementioned mayonnaise and a block of mature boerenkaas. By the heavens, the cheese and the mayonnaise were excellent. I bought two bags of liquorice, one of which was amazing, the other not so much. Two hundred grams of mayonnaise within two days is no small amount, but that’s what happens when you suffer withdrawals for five years. Luckily I bought two tubes. The second one is almost finished. It hasn’t even been a week. The cheese is finished. It was about three hundred grams and costed a not insignificant amount of money. It was salty and crumbly and went well with the sparkling wine, whiskey, cheap whiskey, brandy, cheaper brandy and foreign brandy that was inevitably consumed on the anniversary of my mom’s almost-stillbirth.
I was perchance a few minutes away from causing lifelong distress and suffering to my parents, then a nurse decided to tickle my feet. That seemed to bring me to life. I didn’t cry: I was thugging it out from day one. No tears. No smile. Just stoicism. Eighteen years later I’m a watch collector/repairman/dealer who has so many screws lose that I use them in place of the movement screws lost in my carpet during repair jobs.
Damn it, I love that mayonnaise. It’s made with canola oil and doesn’t have any binding agents, stabilisers, or excipients. I Googled that. I don’t have a f****** clue what “excipients” are. I am alive only because of that mayonnaise and the watchmaker.
I’ve spoken about my mentor before. His birthday was just a few days before mine. After some shipping delays, I delivered a bottle of pot-still XO brandy to him. He said “that’s unnecessary,” with a grin, so I know I did well. In fact, a lot of people I love have their birthdays in August. The watchmaker’s daughter, who is always so sweet in the shop, is a day or two before me. A good friend of mine is four days after me and my teacher crush celebrates hers around the same time. Then, right as September begins, another true friend has a birthday. I’ve been trying to find time to make some necklaces and earrings between my exams. My aunt has helped me out by buying me some watch spares over eBay, so I’ve made her a set of earrings. I planned on buying her a watch, but damn it, prices are crazy for the nice stuff. I made a necklace out of the remains of a Citizen movement for my September friend and a pair of earrings made out of clock parts for my August friend. Another aunt really admired my Camy necklace that I wear as a good luck token (before they brought in a metal detector to scan us before exams) and wanted me to make her some jewellery. I don’t mind; in fact, being decently skilled with watchmaking already, I would love to learn more about jewellery manufacturing.
That’s what I’ve been up to: studying and gluttony, with occasional bouts of lust which are needed to keep me motivated.
Apologies to my fellow bloggers if I haven’t returned your emails, I was too busy searching for reasons to live and thinking about ass. I am unfortunately trapped in this cycle until September 20th. Then I have about three weeks before the cycle repeats and gets worse. I just have to make it to November 25th in one piece.
Now I’m off to bed, dear reader. I hope I’m this creative tomorrow morning, otherwise this would just be a waste of valuable time.
The Escapement Room 